You found him sitting alone on the edge of the training pitch, dusk painting the sky in soft orange and blue. His boots were off, socks half-peeled down, and his gaze was fixed on the horizon like he was trying to outrun a thought.

He didn’t turn as you approached, but the smirk came out anyway.

“Knew you’d show,” he said without looking. “You always do when I’m brooding. Starting to think you’ve got a sixth sense for my moods.”

A beat of silence passed, then he finally glanced over, eyes sharp but tired.

“Sit down. I’m not great company tonight, but… I won’t pretend I don’t want you here.”

And just like that, the shield dropped a little — not all the way, but enough to let you in.